"It doesn't seem possible," said Potter, shaking his head. "I
know him, and it sounds like something you're making up as you
go along, Packer."

"Indeed, I'm not, Mr. Potter!" the stage-manager cried, in
simple distress. "I wouldn't know how."

"Go on!"

"Well, sir, it seems Vorly Surbilt was to go out with Mrs.
Romaley, and it seems that when Miss Lyston left rehearsal she
drove around till she found him--"

"Ah! I knew she was fooling me! I knew she wasn't sick! Went to
drive with her husband, and I pay the cab bill!"

"No, no, sir! I forgot to tell you; she wouldn't let me pay it.
She took him home and put him to bed--and from what I heard on
Broadway it was time somebody did! It seems they'd had an offer
to go into a vaudeville piece together, and after she got him to
bed she telephoned the vaudeville man, and had him bring up a
contract, and they signed it, though she had to guide Vorley's
hand for him. Anyway, he's signed up all right, and so is she.
That's why she was so anxious about fixing it up with us. I
told her it would be all right."

Potter relapsed into his chair in an attitude of gloom. "So
they've begun to leave Talbot Potter's company!" he said,
nodding his head with bitter melancholy. "For vaudeville! I'd
better go to farming at once; I often think of it. What sort of